Title: Spooked
Fandom: Torchwood
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Owen.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1327
Spoilers: Set a couple of weeks after Exit Wounds.
Summary: Working in the archives, Ianto finds he has unexpected company.
Content Notes: None needed.
Written For: Challenge 422: Spooky.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.



Torchwood’s archives were on the spooky side, at least that’s what most of Ianto’s colleagues had always told him. Spooky, creepy, eerie, unsettling, too quiet, too full of weird noises, too cold, spine-chilling, scary, disturbing, probably haunted… He’d heard it all from one or other of them over the years, except for Jack, who’d always considered the subterranean maze of rooms and passageways his own private Ianto-stalking grounds.

None of it really bothered Ianto, not even the part about the archives being haunted, which happened to be true. He encountered spectral figures from time to time, but he didn’t bother them, so they didn’t bother him. He wasn’t sure they were even aware of his presence; they just went on doing whatever it was they did, and he got on with whatever was currently occupying his time and attention.

There was a lot to be said for working in the archives, even when he wasn’t engaged in the on-going task of wresting order from the chaos brought on by decades of neglect. He liked the illusion of privacy, and the fact that he could get on with his work without constantly being interrupted by his colleagues’ demands for coffee, paperclips, printer paper, manila folders, or whatever it was they’d run out of. It was a case of out of sight, out of mind; if they couldn’t see him, most of them forgot he was there and saved their demands for when he reappeared in the main Hub. Jack was the exception, of course, but most of his demands tended to be of a more personal kind, and always came with their own rewards.

Of course, that was before, when there’d been more people working for Torchwood. Now it was just him, Jack, and Gwen, who never came down to the lower levels anyway, there was no one to complain about how creepy, spooky, or generally eerie it was down here. Even Jack didn’t visit as often as he used to; there was too much work to do, and not enough people to do it. Which probably explained why Ianto was down here so late, trying to catch up on filing and cataloguing while he had the chance.

It also explained why he was so surprised when he turned around and found he had company. Not that he let his surprise show. After all, there was a curious feeling of inevitability about it; surely it had been only a matter of time before something like this happened.

“Owen. Never thought I’d see the day when you’d come down here voluntarily. Well, at least I can be sure you’re not here to demand coffee or stationery supplies. I gather you’re a ghost now. Funny you should show up here, considering you died out at Turnmill, but I suppose if you’re going to haunt anywhere, the Hub is a better choice, if only because it’s familiar.”

Ghost Owen planted his hands on his hips and glared daggers; he was a bit see-through though, so perhaps it lacked some of the impact it might otherwise have had. “That’s it? I show up here as a ghost and you just… brush it off, like this sort of thing happens every day? You could’ve at least screamed, or jumped, or something.” His voice was a bit faint too.

“Why would I do that? It’s not like you’re the only ghost I’ve ever run into down here,” Ianto pointed out with an unconcerned shrug. “As a walking, talking dead man you were a novelty, but ghosts are ten a penny. Torchwood’s been around for over a century, and the death rate among employees has always been high; no one gets out of here alive, except possibly if they have their employment retconned away. So, what brings you here, aside from being dead with nowhere better to go? How’s being dead working out for you?”

“Not much different from being the walking, talking dead, to be honest, still can’t do any of the stuff I used to enjoy, and now I can’t even touch things. About the only difference is, I can walk through walls now, and even that got boring after the first few times.”

“I’m sorry, that’s tough.”

“Thanks. Suppose I’ll get used to the whole being totally dead thing eventually.”

“Look on the bright side; with all the other ghosts down here, you’ll have company.”

“If any of them can see or hear me.”

“Ah, good point. But if you can talk to me, you might be able to talk to Jack and Gwen as well.”

“What about Tosh?”

“Oh, I suppose it makes sense that you wouldn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“Tosh died just after you did. Jack’s brother shot her; she was slowly bleeding to death while she was helping you at Turnmill, she just didn’t want you to know. By the time the rest of us got to her, there was nothing we could do. Even if you’d been here, I don’t think you could have saved her.”

Owen’s ghostly face fell. “She never said a word. I sort of knew there was something wrong, something she wasn’t telling me, but she just said it was her arm. She let me unload on her, yelling and carrying on… God, I was such a selfish prat!” Sighing, he shook his head. “That’s so like her though, putting everyone else first, never thinking of herself.”

“Yes, it is.” Ianto smiled sadly; Tosh had been his best friend, and he missed her.

“Have you seen her? Has she been here?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but I don’t spend as much time down here as I used to, so maybe I just haven’t been here at the right time. If you stick around, maybe you’ll find her.”

“Maybe I will. Stick around, I mean. Not like I’ve got anything else to do, except being dead, and I can do that anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t mind the company. Makes a change, having someone to talk to, hasn’t been much time for conversations over the last couple of weeks. Too much work, and too few people to do it all, and even when we are all together, it’s hard to find anything to talk about. Gwen keeps bursting into tears, and Jack’s doing the strong and silent bit.”

“How about you?”

“I’m just trying to keep them, and myself, from falling apart. Success rate is only about fifty percent, but I’m working on that. This, seeing you and talking to you, is helping.”

“At least I’m still good for something. Maybe I can start my own practice. Owen Harper, ghost therapist and grief counsellor. Get yourself haunted back to health. Think it’ll catch on?”

“This is Torchwood; anything’s possible. What about you though? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Let me see if I can stick my arm through you?”

“Seriously?”

“I’m a ghost, and a doctor; I’m curious! So far I’ve only tried walking through inanimate objects, not anything alive. ‘Course, to be fair, you’re the only person, living or dead, that I’ve met so far, so it’s not like I’ve had any other opportunities.”

“Well, okay, go ahead. But I don’t want you taking over my body. You can walk through me, but possession is off the table.”

“I can live with that. Okay, here goes.” Owen moved closer and stuck his arm straight through Ianto’s stomach. “What does that feel like?”

“A little chilly.”

“How about this?”

It only lasted a couple of seconds, but as Owen’s ghostly form passed right through him, Ianto shivered. “That sent chills down my spine. How was it for you?”

“Weird. Not sure I’d want to do it again. Thanks anyway though.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I should get back to my filing or I’ll be here all night. If you want to stick around and chat though…”

“Might as well. Nice to have someone to spook to.”

Smiling, Ianto turned back to the filing cabinets.


The End